


The Air That You Breathe

by Pimento



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angst, Anxious Castiel, Canon Related, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e14 My Bloody Valentine, Impala, Impala Sex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Protective Castiel, Sex in the Impala, Sick Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6417889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to a tumbler prompt:  A destiel fanfic; set 5.14, "My Bloody Valentine, at about 38 minutes in, Sam is in the panic room, detoxing from demon blood //again// and Cas tries to reassure Dean. Dean just says, 'I need some air', goes out to the impala, but Cas follows. Impala sex ensues. Pretty please?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Air That You Breathe

“Help…help…Dean…Cas…If you’re out there…please…help…” Sam’s cries were muffled by the heavy black door, but not muted. Dean wished to God that Bobby had sound proofed the damn thing. He swigged from the bottle of bourbon, glugging it neat to numb himself. He closed his eyes, it wasn’t working it just made him feel even more empty. The heavy salt iron of the panic room walls cool and solid against the back of his head, as he leant against it.

“That’s not him in there,” Cas said quietly, “not really.” Dean had almost forgotten Cas was there, he stood so calmly, only his clenched fist hidden in the pocket of his trenchcoat as he leant against the wall betraying any sign of his agitation.

“Dean help me,” Sam’s pleading was getting even more desperate.

The handsome face twitched slightly as he tried to ignore Sam’s plea, replying to Cas with a very flat sounding, “I know.”

“Cas…” Sam called pitifully, and Dean sighed heavily.

“Sam just has to get it out of his system,” Cas continued helplessly, “and then he’ll be…”

“Please,” Sam was crying now. Dean felt a fist of pain closing round his heart.

“Listen… I just…er… I need to get some air…” 

Cas stared after his disappearing figure, wanting more than anything to ease his pain, but not knowing how. He stayed in his post, leaning against the wall, listening to Sam detoxing demon blood with agonising slowness.

 

Dean weaved unsteadily between the scrap cars in Bobby’s yard, moonlight glinted off the broken husks. Broken empty husks. Famine’s words echoed through his head. “I can see inside you. That’s one giant heap of nothing…” He stared at the Impala, not even the sight of her sleek black lines giving him comfort tonight. He paused, the bottle of drink half way to his lips. “Nothing will fill it, not alcohol, not sex…” His arm dropped listlessly to his side. It was just too much. Too much.

He stared to the heavens. Eyes hazing with tears. “Please,” his voice was broken, “I can’t…” he shook his head, afraid to hear the words spoken aloud. “I need some help… Please.” The stars continued to shine in the blackness of the night sky, nothing moved, nothing changed. He closed his eyes wishing he could close his brain as easily.

He slumped into baby, letting the bottle fall to the ground outside. It chinked heavily onto the grit and rolled away, contents glugging and spilling out. He dropped his head against the solid familiar steering wheel as the sobs he felt he could not cry in front of anyone finally broke. He gripped the leather, fingers curling and uncurling, his tears burning his nose and throat.

Even though he felt the subtle dip of the Impala’s suspension, so finely tuned to her every movement that he knew instantly he was no longer alone, he still jumped slightly when Cas spoke his name. He tried to stem his tears, somehow it had not occurred to him that Cas would hear his prayer. He wiped his face angrily on his sleeve, lifting his head, he turned it slowly. Cas was watching him closely, with an expression that Dean found completely unreadable. For once he could not hold his gaze, and the moss green eyes flicked away.

Cas cleared his throat, his vessel confused him sometimes, why was his throat so tight? So far his efforts at comforting Dean had failed spectacularly, with some people the mere presence of an angel was enough to give solace, but Dean had no faith, and yet he had prayed, perhaps… but no his presence wasn’t having any obvious effect. Words, Cas knew could be very effective, but he was not good at words. He had heard that prayer, the sheer desperation. He had heard Famine’s cruel words back in that diner and could sense the damage that they had done. Cas was desperate too, desperate to do something, anything to make it better, but he did not know how. A broken man and a broken angel, they made quite a pair. 

He thought frantically, trying to find something, anything…

“I’m sorry I was so easily side-tracked by Famine.” He said gravely, maybe an apology would help. “Perhaps if I had not been so weak, we would have…”

Dean shook his head, his lips trembling. “This is not on you.” He managed between clenched teeth.

“No, not entirely,” Cas admitted, acknowledging the truth of it. “It is Sam’s addiction, and you did agree to leave him chained to a sink, he did the best to resist, but we…” 

Dean seemed to be regaining control of his lips… and his voice… “Not helping, Cas,” he snapped. 

Cas twisted on the leatherette of the bench seat, his arm hooked casually along the seat back so that his hand rested mid air, fingertips lightly touching the arm of Dean’s jacket. “I’m not very good at ‘PEP’ talks,” he said with a little flash of irritation. He was trying his best here! But then his expression softened. “But I am here.” He reached out hesitantly with his other hand, stopping short of touching Dean’s face, but drawing his attention long enough to make eye contact. “I could just listen,” he said earnestly.

“Yeah, well, Dr. Phil,” Dean growled, as ever becoming snarky when faced with emotional pain. “I don’t think any amount of talking and listening is gonna fix things. It sure as hell isn’t gonna pop Lucifer back in his box, any time soon, or miraculously cure Sam, or make the damn slightest bit of difference to… to…” he stopped suddenly, his voice dropping away to nothing. “He was right Cas, I’m empty… I’m worthless.”

Cas’ gaze took on a new quality, and Dean flinched slightly under the intensity of the blue eyes as they bored into him. “If you are so worthless, why would heaven be so focussed on obtaining you. That does not make sense.” 

“Yeah Cas, it does. They need me for a vessel.” His voice was cracking again, the bourbon slurring his words slightly, “that’s all I am, a worthless shell, an empty angel bucket.” He screwed his eyes shut, so he did not see Cas clenching his fists, nor the twist of frustration on his face. Nor did he see the change in Cas’ expression or the start of the lunge towards him. 

His eyes flew open in alarm as he felt the sudden shift in the equilibrium of the Impala, impaired by drink he flung his arms out to steady himself as Cas seized his jacket and leaned across him, their noses almost touching. “You,” he said in brutal staccato, “are… not… worthless!”

He felt the familiar twitch and surge as he tried to hold the force of Cas’ stare. 

He had felt it in Bobby’s kitchen the night after the witnesses had risen and the first seal was broken.

He had felt it when Cas had thrown him against the wall in the beautiful room. 

The sheer power exuded by Cas as he gripped him tight. The strength of the connection was overwhelming. Dean’s head was spinning, with a combination of adrenalin and alcohol, he almost believed him, it was as if Cas was trying to replace Dean’s own lack of self-worth, with his own faith in him and it was hypnotic. Dean recovered himself slightly and started to push back with his hands against the car to counteract the force with which Cas was holding him, but Cas was having none of it. He shook him slightly his fists gripping the fabric of the jacket so tight that his knuckles shone white in the gloom.

“I am not letting go until you admit it. You are not worthless.”

Dean flinched. “All right, man,” he stuttered shakily, “all right…”

“SAY IT!”

“I’m not worthless,” he mumbled.

“You have to mean it,” Cas said, his breath hot on Dean’s face.

“I CAN’T!” Dean suddenly shouted, the pain and the frustration and the sheer sense of his own failure and weakness and hopelessness overwhelming him. “He was right, there’s nothing there, just a giant empty black hole.” He closed his eyes, fighting against tears that threatened to flow again.

Cas had to show him, he had to make him understand. His angelic mind sought solutions, he gazed at the face before him, lips a tight pained line, eyelashes wet with tears as they gently pushed against the freckled damp cheeks sparkling in the half light. How could prove to this infuriating, damaged man, just how important and wonderful he was? 

Cas felt so inadequate and the frustration at his own pathetic limitations bubbled through him again, his fingers dug deeper into the cotton fabric. He pulled hard, dragging Dean towards him and pressed their lips together. Forcing every scrap of love, devotion and admiration he felt into the contact.


End file.
